


Names

by XialiPrince



Series: The Panic Room [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A prequel to An Actual Fic that i intend to write at some point, Angst, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Sides (Sanders Sides), Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Who knows when I'll update, not me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XialiPrince/pseuds/XialiPrince
Summary: Virgil's gone through his fair share of names - more than any of the other sides, without a doubt.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit Sanders
Series: The Panic Room [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642921
Comments: 21
Kudos: 155





	1. Panic

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all better believe I'm alive, and thoroughly exhausted by exams!!!  
> To readers of Spinner of Fate, I'm really sorry I haven't uploaded anything recently. I went through it, and it seems like I'm going to have to rewrite it fully - my writing style's changed a ton over the last year, and I don't think I can manage to work with what I've posted so far. Don't worry though! That fic is my brain baby, and I'm never letting her die.  
> In other news, take this random thing I wrote in like two hours. It's part of a prequel to a fic I kinda wanna write, but we'll see how this goes.  
> Enjoy!

The day Thomas got lost in Target was the day Virgil manifested in the middle of the commons. Deceit was the first one to notice him. He’d always been observant.

“ _Bad_ morning to you, kid. What’s _not_ your name?” Deceit asked softly, sitting down on the steps beside him. Virgil, new as he was, didn’t know how to respond. He stayed quiet. Deceit was kind enough to give him some time. Together, they watched the other Sides – Logic, Imagination and Love – as they squabbled over how to find Mom.

“Are you mad?” Logic demanded, scowling at Imagination. “This isn’t an adventure book; this is real life!”

“I know that,” Imagination started, rolling his eyes, “but isn’t this how a bunch of stories start? A hero, all alone in a strange world…”

“Yeah, about that?” Love asked, “Can we go find Mom, now? She’s probably looking for us, and we don’t want her to be sad!” He worried away at his lip, all jittery, nervous energy.

Virgil twitched at that, his first words finding their way out of his mouth. “Maybe she’s not looking,” he mumbled under his breath, and the questioning glance that Deceit gave him was enough to make Virgil duck his head and look away in shame.

“I con-cur.” Logic pointed at Love, carefully pronouncing the word he’d learned just last week. “We need to go find Mom.”

“Ugh, but what if it’s our big chance?” Imagination flourished his foam sword grandly, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Just picture it with me. Thomas, straying from the given path, the very picture of a hero-in-the-making –“

“Doubtful.” Virgil whispered.

“-when suddenly, a dragon swoops in and carries him into the clouds, to pursue his destiny as the saviour of an ancient kingdom!” Imagination finished, not seeing or hearing Virgil’s input.

“Ridiculous.” Logic deadpanned.

“Oh, come on!”

“Dragons don’t exist – and besides, if they did, a dragon taking Thomas would classify as kidnapping, which is against the law-!”

“Well, that doesn’t-!”

“You guys, come on-!”

Virgil curled in on himself, trying to ignore the arguing and the unsettled feeling bubbling in his stomach. Deceit sighed, leaning back and casting a vaguely disgusted glance over the situation. “ _Do_ worry about them, kid. They’re _always_ like this.”

Doing his best to ignore the bad feelings brewing inside him, Virgil took a moment to consider Deceit, brow furrowed in concentration. “You, um…” He clicked his fingers as he thought, searching for the right way to say it. “You talk different to everyone else. Opposites? You mean things opposite to how you say them?”

“Absolutely _incorrect_.” Deceit smiled encouragingly. Virgil tugged his huge black hoodie tighter around his shoulders, a proud blush colouring his pale cheeks. “What _aren’t_ you? We _can_ tell what Sides represent when they manifest, you know.”

“Oh.” Virgil tilted his head, thinking. “I…” He trailed off, attention caught by the screen that Logic, Love and Imagination were gathered around. Thomas hummed, aimlessly wandering around a corner and bumping into a tall figure. Virgil tensed, memories of school assemblies and warnings from Mom rushing back as he Acted.

“ ** _Stranger_**.” He whimpered, pulling the hood over his face so he could cling to it in fear. The Sides went silent, staring at the new arrival in doubtless confusion, and Virgil trembled as he clutched his head. “ ** _They’re gonna kidnap you and throw you in a trunk and you’ll never see Mom again!"_**

“What _don’t_ you mean-?”

“ ** _Run!_** ”

Virgil didn’t know it then, but Acting in that moment was the first use of his powers. His voice was deafening as it echoed through the Mindscape, and the other Sides were thrown into the walls by the sheer force of his Command as he seized Control.

Thomas burst into tears and sprinted away, desperately running through the aisles and calling out for Mom. Virgil’s eyes glowed black, his fear fuelling Thomas’… Thomas’…

“ _Panic_!” Imagination managed to choke out in accusation, unable to move from where he’d crashed. Deceit reached out to Virgil – to _Panic_ – but he was already tainting the Mindscape, tinting the warm glow of the room with darkness, shadows looming and stretching, the once comforting features distorted and _wrong_ as Thomas continued to cry.

“ ** _They’re chasing you. Everyone here is a stranger, you can’t trust any of them, you have to find-!_** ”

“MOM!” Thomas bawled, barrelling into her legs and grabbing onto them in undiluted relief.

Virgil’s Command dissipated the second it was completed, finally releasing its hold on the rest of the Sides, and he sagged against the bannister in exhaustion. However normal he’d felt when he’d initially been manifested – this was the opposite of that. His hands were shaking excess energy, his head was spinning, bright spots were dancing before his eyes, and as Virgil’s fast breathing slowed, his Name settled into his being.

Panic.

Virgil’s Name – the point of his existence – was Panic.

“You’re _horrible_!” Love sobbed, and Panic’s gaze snapped up, horrified. Logic glared at him as he shoved himself to his feet.

“We wouldn’t have been in danger! Did you even look at that man? He was a store employee – if anything, he’d have gotten us back to Mom! What’s _wrong_ with you?” Logic shrieked, gesturing wildly. Panic flinched back.

“I- I didn’t mean to-“

A foam sword smacked him over the head, and Panic yelped, tears forming.

“You made Thomas and Love cry, and you hurt everyone! Go away! We don’t want you!” Imagination yelled, hitting Panic with his sword with each word. Panic stood unsteadily, covering his head with his hands as Imagination continued his assault.

“Hey, _keep_ hitting him!” Deceit interjected, yanking Panic away protectively. Imagination scowled, pointing threateningly at Deceit.

“You can go away too, you nasty, lying, snake person! We don’t need you here either – we can look after Thomas just fine on our own!”

“Roman,” Deceit started, “ _don’t_ calm down-“

“I said, go! Away!” Imagination – Roman – screamed, raising his sword again. Panic pressed closer to Deceit, eyes wide with fear as Logic continued to rant, as Love continued to cry, and it was all too much, and-

“ _No_.” Deceit bit out, wrapping an arm around Panic’s shoulders and sinking down, through the Mindscape, into a hallway with five doors. 

Virgil broke away from Deceit and collapsed, gasping brokenly through his sobs. “I- I didn’t- I swear, I wasn’t trying to-“

“I _don’t_ know.” Deceit said reassuringly, sitting on the floor beside Virgil and holding his hands. “You’re _not_ okay. _Don’t_ take a deep breath, alright?”

Virgil let Deceit place one of Virgil’s hands over his chest, watching dazedly as Deceit inhaled with loud, exaggerated movements.

“ _Don’t_ copy me.”

It took a minute for Virgil to understand, but he did his best to mimic the way Deceit breathed. In, and hold, and out. In, and hold, and out. The numb, scared weight in his stomach receded, just a bit.

Deceit waited for Virgil to calm down enough to breathe normally on his own, nodding encouragingly and keeping up the exaggerated breaths until Virgil took his hand back to scrub at the tears and snot dripping down his face.

“They’re _not_ idiots.” Deceit said, holding Virgil’s miserable gaze. “ _Don’t_ ignore everything they say.”

“I’m Panic.” Virgil whimpered, a new wave of tears about to fall. “They’re right to hate me. I- I-“ he gasped, “I hurt them! I hurt _you_!”

“ _I care_.” Deceit said emphatically, pulling Virgil into a hug. “You’re _not_ newly manifested! You _weren’t_ in a stressful situation, and you _didn’t_ react accordingly!”

Virgil sniffled, burying his face in Deceit’s neck. “You don’t hate me?”

“I _do_.” Deceit promised, stroking the back of Virgil’s head.

“Thanks.” Virgil mumbled, exhaustion causing his limbs to go heavy as he tightened his grip on Deceit. Deceit glanced down the hall, frowning slightly.

“Your Realm _has_ manifested, but you _should_ worry. It _didn’t_ take my Realm a few months to manifest after I appeared.”

“Where do I stay, then?” Virgil’s shoulders sagged defeatedly. “I can’t stay in the main bit, you heard them. They don’t want me.”

“You _can’t_ stay with me.” Deceit said firmly. “I _can’t_ change the layout of my Realm, so you _won’t_ have a place for yourself until your Realm is manifested.”

“You’d do that for me?” Virgil asked, tired fingers grasping weakly at Deceit’s shirt. “I don’t want them to be mean to you just because you wouldn’t hate me like they do.”

“I _didn’t_ say it before, didn’t I? They’re _not_ idiots. Besides, they never _dis_ liked me anyway.”

“Mmkay.” Virgil sighed, too dizzy to really argue his point anymore. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Deceit’s scaled face, smiling down at him. It felt nice. He felt safe, for the first time since manifesting. 


	2. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but that new episode though???? Yes?????? Fair warning, this fic will have major spoilers for the newest episode, {Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux}.  
> …  
> …  
> …  
> Now that’s there, WE HAVE A NAME FOR THE SNAKE BOI  
> HECK YEAH  
> He’s such a good boi? I’m looking forward to seeing more of him!  
> Also, (and yes, I am updating a bit earlier than I expected to because I want to scream about the new episode) one more dark Side is confirmed, through the thumbnail! Was I the only one who felt like all the characters were a bit… off during this episode? Like, it felt way more antagonistic than usual, and I can’t get rid of the feeling that we’re building up to something. Additionally, where was Virgil? This episode felt like one he’d usually have a part in – it involved a lot of Thomas’s insecurities and worries. I have a lot of feelings about this episode, feel free to come cry with me in the comments, or on my Instagram, aliearose.345 because I need to express these emotions. I'll be fairly active on my Instagram, hopefully, and I'll be dumping most of my designs and updates there, so follow me if you're interested in any of that?  
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Virgil’s second Name came into existence three years after his manifestation, the day his Realm manifested. It wasn’t pretty. 

xXx

Virgil sighed loudly, plunking himself down on the little coffee table in the middle of Janus’s Room. Janus raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What’s got you all _calm_ and _collected_?” He asked. With a swish of his fingers, Janus manifested a magenta cloak to drape over his shoulders. Virgil made a face, wobbling his hand in a so-so gesture, and Janus grimaced, snapping it away.

“Imagination, what else is new?” Virgil groaned, limply sliding off the table to sprawl face-down on the ground. Janus sniggered at Virgil’s dramatics. “Honestly, how do Patton and Logic put up with him?”

“What _didn’t_ he do this time?”

“Right,” Virgil rolled over and sat up, like he’d been waiting for the question (he had, but that wasn’t important), “so, Thomas had his recital today, right? The big performance thing that Imagination’s been having him practice for.”

“Uh-huh.” Janus tried out a top hat this time, and Virgil gave him a thumbs up. It actually looked kinda cool with the scales, like a showy villain from a Disney movie-

Virgil paused, then shook his head. Suddenly, he didn’t like the top hat anymore. Janus knocked it onto the floor to join the other discarded accessories, ruffling his hair to try and get some volume back into it as Virgil continued his story.

“And I went up to the commons, because I need to do my thing, so Thomas didn’t make a fool of himself.”

Janus nodded absently, switching out the tailcoat for a fitted black suit with a white shirt and yellow bowtie. Virgil grinned at him, and Janus turned around with an easy flourish to admire himself in one of his many full-length mirrors.

“Then, Imagination just completely ignored me? He wouldn’t let me keep Thomas grounded, then he got him all over excited, and then Thomas just went and messed the whole thing up by forgetting his lines! The lines, can I add, that _I wanted him to practice before going on!_ ” Virgil finished, flinging his arm in the air with an exasperated noise. Janus hummed, leaning over the table to pat Virgil’s head comfortingly.

“That sounds _manageable_.”

“Tell me about it.” Virgil complained, leaning into Janus’s touch. “It’s like he doesn’t even realise I’m trying to help him! I mean, what’s Imagination even thinking, not rehearsing Thomas’s lines before going on stage? _Obviously,_ he’d be too worked up to remember them, we all know how Thomas can get!”

“Oh,” Virgil continued, “let’s not forget that he wouldn’t even let Thomas run off stage when he messed up! He just kept Thomas talking, and the whole thing got worse, and the teachers probably think he’s an idiot now. Great. Good job, Imagination, way to ace an audition!”

“To be _un_ fair,” Janus smirked, “it’d probably be _better_ if he had run off. This way, at least the teachers know he _will_ run off stage if he messes something up in an actual performance.”

Virgil whined, reaching out and smushing his hand into Janus’s face. “Stop _making sense_ and let me _complain_ , Janus, oh my _gosh_.”

Janus laughed, ducking and batting Virgil’s hand away. “Truth and lies _aren’t my thing_ , Virgil, as you so eloquently _didn’t_ put it.”

“Ugh, shut up.” Virgil snatched the clip-on bowtie (Thomas didn’t actually know how to tie a bowtie, so they’d made do with an oversized bow stuck to a hairclip) off Janus’s shirt, using it to pin up the thick bangs falling into Janus’s eyes, “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. What about you? Did you finish that thing you’ve been working on?”

Janus grinned, his mismatched eyes shining with excitement. “ _Don’t_ come and see for yourself.”

Virgil grabbed Janus’s gloved hand without hesitation, bumping their shoulders together as he stood up. “Lead the way.”

Dragging Virgil after him, Janus opened one of the many doors in his Room and led them out, into his Realm. Janus had been working on something special for at least nine months, and he’d refused to spill any details – a rare occurrence between the two of them, considering they pretty much spent all their time together. Blinding sunlight caught Virgil off guard, but he squinted through it to look at the new addition to Deceit’s Realm.

He rubbed his eyes; certain he was seeing something wrong. Looked at the addition again. Turned his incredulous gaze to Janus.

“It’s a rock.”

Janus clapped his hands and bounced on his toes, blissfully ignorant to Virgil’s confusion. Or, maybe Janus was just messing with him. “Isn’t she _hideous_?” he said gleefully, clambering up the side of the rock that had little crevices, perfectly shaped to be used as footholds. When Janus reached the smooth top, he flopped down, gesturing for Virgil to follow with an entirely too happy smile.

Virgil rolled his eyes, clawing his way up to where Janus was. The heat was starting to get uncomfortable (the boiling hot rock certainly wasn’t helping) but he refused to take off his hoodie – no matter how illogical wearing it might be, Virgil could barely ever bring himself to leave its comfort.

On the other hand, Janus looked thoroughly delighted as he snapped out of his suit and rolled up his shirt sleeves, soaking up the warmth. “That hole over there _isn’t_ yours.” Janus pointed at a carved hollow in a large lump of stone beside him.

It was carefully moulded so it provided complete shelter from the sun, facing the patch of rock Janus was lying on in a way that, if Virgil were to sit there, he’d be able to talk to Janus without even shifting to have to look at him. The stone was padded with cushions and a cottony comforter, with a clear dent where Virgil was supposed to curl up.

Mindful of Janus’s sprawling legs, Virgil climbed into the hollow. The shade was an immediate relief from the sun, and it was moulded so perfectly to his form that he couldn’t find the will to sit back up. He gave a tiny sigh, shoulders losing what little tension they’d managed hold onto from his encounter with Imagination. “I take it back. You’re a genius, and you spending nine months making a rock is totally justified.”

Janus’s forked tongue flickered out as he gave a satisfied hum, stretching out luxuriously over the warm stone and basking in the sunlight. “It’s _not_ all in the angles, Virgil. Plus, this way, I _still_ have to hide under that damn blanket every morning.”

So, there _was_ some function to this, other than being the comfiest place Virgil had ever sat. Janus struggled in the mornings, having to spend an hour or two huddled under an electric heated blanket to absorb enough warmth to get him aware enough to do anything. The downside of being part snake, Virgil supposed, was that being cold-blooded was freaking awful – unless Janus got at least an hour of heat every few hours, he’d get too stiff to move.

Of course, that downside didn’t dampen the upsides. Virgil was still super jealous of Janus’s ability to literally _taste_ the truth on the air, catching lies as they were told, feeling exactly where everything was in a room without so much as opening his eyes or looking around the corner. It made avoiding the other sides way easier.

They sat together in companionable silence, minutes, then hours slipping by without either of them noticing. Virgil would’ve been content to sit there forever…

Naturally, Thomas’s nerves flared up the moment he thought it, and Virgil groaned theatrically as he shoved himself out of the hollow. Janus’s eyelids fluttered dozily, but he still reached out to grab at Virgil’s wrist. “D’you want me to _stay_?” He asked, words slurring as he tried to wake himself up.

Virgil shook his head, adjusting the bow in Janus’s hair. “Nah. I can handle Imagination now, I feel better.”

Janus quirked his lips up in a crooked smirk, rolling over to expose his other side to the sun. “M’ _not_ glad. Call if you _don’t_ need me?”

“Yeah, I know. See you in a bit, Janus.” Virgil gave Janus’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before he sank out.

xXx

Panic leaned against the stairs, dredging up a bored scowl. On his first day after manifesting, he’d shown up with a nervous smile, and Imagination had barely managed to hold back his onslaught of insults about “ _Panic_ _not_ _panicking”_ for more than a minute at a time. By now, he figured it was better to not risk it.

Speak – or rather, think – of the devil. Imagination stormed into the commons, shrieking incomprehensibly at the screen that Love was gazing blankly at. Following his lead, Panic gave the screen a cursory glance. Something in him tightened as Thomas continued walking, kids whispering all around him, and he felt the _shame_ , the _anger_ rolling off Love and Imagination in waves.

“What’s up with them?” Panic asked, startling Love out of his trance. Unsurprisingly, Love didn’t seem all that unnerved by his presence – they’d reached a bit of a balance after those first few nerve-wracking months. So long as Panic tried not to antagonize Logic or Imagination too much (because, come on, his entire _existence_ seemed to annoy them), Love would do his best to mediate between them and, occasionally, make Panic cookies to share with Deceit.

Virgil still had no idea why Patton had gotten over his initial distrust, but he couldn’t deny that Patton’s help in the commons was invaluable, so he hadn’t asked. Better to stay ignorant, rather than risk breaking their fragile truce.

Besides, Patton was kind. If their truce ended, Virgil knew it would be because he’d messed up and done something to hurt Patton, and that was the last thing Virgil wanted.

“The other kids are talking about us.” Love said miserably, looking back over his shoulder at the screen.

 _Ah._ The jittery, anxious feeling in Panic’s chest made sense now. The kids in the halls were pointing out Thomas, chattering behind their hands and giggling as he passed. Word must have gotten around about the mess he’d made of the audition.

Love was only getting more and more upset as he watched more kids laughing, so Panic nudged Thomas to look down so he couldn’t see their scorn. Thomas sped up, doing his best to block out the whispers.

Imagination whirled around, glaring viciously at Panic. “What did you do that for? Now they’ll think he’s a coward, a knave that flees from danger at the mere hint of it!”

“Leave off, Imagination.” Panic snarled, defensive hostility rushing back into his tone. “Thomas doesn’t need to deal with this right now. You feel bad. I feel bad. Let’s just leave it at that, and not stay with these jerks, yeah?”

Panic wondered, for a fleeting moment, exactly why he even _cared_ – this wasn’t his role; he didn’t deal with people. Panic was just fight or flight, the basest instinct of protecting Thomas. Emotions weren’t his job, weren’t his purpose like they were Love and Imagination’s.

Imagination made an indignant noise, floundering around for an argument. “But that’s no reason to not confront them! They aren’t going to respect Thomas if he runs from them!”

“They sure aren’t going to _respect him if he **bursts into**_ **_tears in front of them either!_** ” Panic’s control slipped as he lost his temper, his voice layering with Command. To his horror, tears started to blur Thomas’s vision. The Mindscape bent to his unwilling power, coal-black smoke snaking over the ground from where Panic stood.

“ ** _Hide in the bathrooms. No-one uses the ones on the second floor._** ” Panic ground out, trying to find a way to keep Thomas from looking stupid in front of the other kids as Imagination started to shout again. He bared his teeth and hissed, the snake-like sound only a weak copy of Deceit’s. “ ** _Shut it._** ”

Imagination’s mouth audibly snapped shut, the force of it sending him stumbling across the commons. Love hurried after him, casting a torn glance back at Panic before lunging forward to stop Imagination crashing into a table.

Panic leaned back against the stairs as Thomas locked the bathroom stall, pressing a hand to his forehead. Something was wrong, the room was too damn _loud_. His head was pounding, spikes of pain jolting through it like lightning. He could barely think.

A huge crack sounded in his ears, like glass smashing, and Panic dropped to the floor with his hands pressed over his ears. It did nothing to ease the agony from the sheer volume of things he could sense, reaching out and _feeling_ ( _embarrassment, worry, misery, relief, whymewhywhywhy-_ ) in a way he’d never been able to. 

Everything Thomas felt, every emotion and thought. They raced through Panic’s mind with the force of a raging tsunami, washing away every ounce of coherent thought he’d once had. His entire sense of self was ripped apart, restructured precariously around this new, painful awareness.

It all felt so _wrong_.

It all felt unnaturally, improbably, completely _right_.

“Roman, King, buddy, _please_ , keep it down! Panic? Panic, can you hear me?”

Someone was whispering his name. Panic couldn’t find the strength to answer. An overload of information he could barely process tore into him like a knife, and he shrank away from the voice. Every tiny movement he made came with a thousand sensations, red-hot and ice-cold, that destroyed whatever fragile control he’d managed to scrape together.

There were footsteps. The same, kind voice. A hand reaching out, and as it brushed against his skin, Panic yelled, because another set of unfamiliar emotions ( _terror, worry, concern, whathappenedisheokay-_ ) had _slammed_ on top of Thomas’s and it was all too much, and he shoved off the hand and bolted, tearing open the nearest door and slamming it shut behind him and-

xXx

It was quiet.

Panic twisted his fingers into his hoodie for comfort as his breathing calmed, the storm of sensations in his mind dampened down to a murmur. He didn’t know where he was.

There was dense grey fog all around him, thicker by the ground and lighter as it rose into the air, glowing faintly with an ethereal shine. Panic couldn’t see anything through it – or rather, there wasn’t anything _to_ see. The hollow space surrounding him stretched on and on in every direction, an unending void of mist and silence. 

Panic scrubbed away the tearstains on his face, flinching at the sound of his hoodie moving. Everything felt loud in this place. The only noise he could hear was his own harsh breathing and the uncomfortable hum of Thomas’s emotions, nestled in the back of his mind.

A shiver ran down his spine, and Panic pulled his hoodie tightly around him. It was cold in here, the kind of damp cold that lay on his skin and settled into his bones. Every breath clouded the air, and Panic wished Janus was here to manifest him something warmer to wear.

Panic wished Janus was here, period.

Janus would know what was going on. He always did – ever since Panic had manifested, Janus had been there with his snarky comments and unfaltering loyalty. Janus would know why everything was strange, he’d be able to explain everything that had just happened. He’d just _know_ , and Panic wanted that more than anything.

The oppressive stillness was starting to get to him, so Panic forced himself to stand on wobbly legs, checking behind him for the door he’d come through. Nothing. He was entirely, completely alone, in an unfamiliar place, after _who-knows-what_ just happened to his head, and there was no way out.

“Wonderful,” Panic said aloud, trying to fill up some of the terrifying quiet, “just great, really great. This is fine.”

His breathing quickened again, but Panic bit down into his cheek and pulled himself together. This wasn’t the real world, after all. This was still Thomas’s Mindscape – there was nothing here that he couldn’t escape, because Thomas was a good kid, and there was nothing that would twist his Mindscape into something that could hurt Panic.

…Right?

Panic pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, taking an experimental step through the fog. It swirled around his legs like normal fog would, and he took another step, feeling a little bolder.

“Alright.” Panic nodded to himself. “This is okay. I just have to find a way out. No big deal. Everything is totally fine.”

He hated that his voice was wavering. Reflexively, Panic’s hand went to his face to tug at a chunk of hair for comfort, but he recoiled when he saw the thick, black gunk smeared all over them.

Panic shook his hands off. Disturbingly, the sticky liquid from the weirdly slick floor stuck to his fingers like tar, the dark stain sinking into his skin like ink as he watched it. Gross. He tried not to think too much about it, wiping his hands off on his pants and walking faster to drown out the worries flitting through his head.

xXx

Panic didn’t know how long he’d been here. He was tired, thirsty, and he just wanted to be _out_. Hot tears prickled in his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t even know where he was – what if there was no exit? What if he was stuck here forever, away from Janus and Patton until Thomas died?

The terror caught in his chest. Panic sat down heavily, yanking his hood over his head and twisting it in his hands as he tried to breathe.

Oh god, he really was trapped.

There was no way he was getting out of this horrible place, no chance of getting back home.

He would never see Janus or Patton again.

The crushing reality of the situation was getting too much, his breath coming out in harsh gasps. His face was tingling, pins and needles pinching at his hands and feet in the familiar way Janus had explained was part of a panic attack. “Shut up.” Panic told his head, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “Shut up, _shut up, **shut up!**_ ”

Panic slammed his stained palms into the sticky ground with a scream. Under his fingertips, the floor _cracked_. Shadows from the cracks spilled into the grey mist, leaking darkness into the pale fog, and Panic scrambled to his feet. Did _he_ do that?

The smoky blackness coalesced into vague, fluid forms, surrounding him. Panic recoiled as one came near him – and not a moment too soon, as the shadows sharpened into claws that slashed through the sleeve of his hoodie.

Panic jerked back, cradling the torn fabric to his chest as he backed up. The looming figures were everywhere. A hysterical giggle bubbled up inside him, leaving his lips as a strangled bark of laughter. This was really just perfect, wasn’t it?

Trapped in an endless void. No way out. And now he was being attacked by shadow-demon-shade-things which he definitely couldn’t fight, because he didn’t have any powers like Janus, or King.

He was so _dead_.

Panic turned on his heel and ran. The shadows – shades? – gave chase, flowing through the mist and grabbing at him as Panic darted all over the place. He couldn’t keep this up for long. He was worn out, and his lungs were already burning from hyperventilating through a panic attack – which he was still kind of in the middle of. Maybe.

Nothing felt quite real, anymore. Sure, he was still running for his freaking life, but it felt… separate, somehow. Like he’d detached from his body and was watching it getting chased through a tv screen.

Panic screamed more out of surprise than pain as a claw ripped through the hood of his hoodie. He was too numb to actually register the pain until he tried to push away the hair getting into his eyes and found it plastered to his face with warm blood.

He snapped back into himself with a terrifying clarity, just as the shades caught up to him. They moved silently – the only warning he had was a flash of black before he was swarmed by the shadows.

Razor-sharp claws caught on the fabric of his clothes, shredding them and tearing into his pale skin. Panic yelled, dropping to the ground. He batted wildly at the flitting shadows, but as they slashed cuts into him, he couldn’t find the strength to do anything except curl up and protect his head under his bruised arms.

Panic whimpered.

Black-black- _grey_ spotted across his vision.

And everything was quiet.

xXx

He came to slowly, blood gumming his eyes closed. Scrubbing at them, he glanced around the empty place. There wasn’t any evidence that he’d been attacked – no shadows, nothing. Just his tattered clothes, soaked through with crimson.

Panic- Panic? Virgil paused, distracted. Was that his Name? It didn’t sound _right_ anymore, not the way it had when Imagination first called him that in the commons.

Virgil rolled onto his hands and knees. He wobbled, crying out as he overbalanced and went toppling into the ground, jarring his injuries. There was something on his back, so heavy that it was throwing off his sense of balance.

He looked over his shoulder and froze. Two huge lumps were attached to his back, tearing through what little of his hoodie remained. They were grey like the inside of a seashell and covered in downy feathers.

Virgil squeaked as he felt one of them twitch – felt it, like he’d feel a twitch in his face or a pinch on his arm. The things were a _part_ of him, and he shuddered in disgust. There were big, feathery limbs stretching out of his back, and he knew what they were, but he could barely bring himself to face the answer staring him in the face.

He had wings.

Somehow, someway, he’d grown gigantic wings out of his back, and they were a part of him like his arms and legs, and he could feel them _moving_ , oh god-

Virgil gagged. The wings flopped awkwardly as he scrambled up, pressing a hand over his mouth to try and clamp down the nausea. The wings twitched erratically in response, then snapped open, and they were _gigantic_ , long and wide enough that Virgil could wrap himself up in them four or five times over.

Another thing, Virgil realised, was that they really, _really_ hurt. The joints in the wings burned like he hadn’t flexed them in years, clicking and popping as they stretched out, and the skin on his back twisted and pulled when the wings relaxed.

They moved almost independently of Virgil’s intentions. He could kind of make them jerk around, but otherwise, they seemed to have a mind of their own. Virgil shivered, shoving the alien limbs out of the way and standing up. There was no way he was staying here – not with all the weird stuff that had just happened. He needed to get out _right now_.

A low, rumbling growl echoed out. Something padded out of the darkness, large, emerald eyes shining with a curious gleam. Virgil was frozen to the spot as a _black_ _panther_ stalked towards him. A panther. A freaking _panther_. He was so, _so_ confused right now, what was even-

Virgil’s breathing caught in his throat as the panther stopped inches from his face. It chirped, tilting its head, and Virgil squeezed his eyes tight shut. This was how he would die. _Could_ Sides even die? Was that something that could happen?

Laughter. Someone was laughing. A rough, sandpaper tongue licked up the side of his face and Virgil squeaked, falling back on his butt in surprise. The panther huffed, and Virgil felt an overwhelming wave of ( _amusement, fondness, protectiveness, withyouIamwhole-_ ) as it plunked down beside him, winding itself around his injured body. The new appendages on his back flared with pain, and the huge feline moved to accommodate them like it was second nature.

**Little dove.**

Virgil startled, looking wildly around for the source of the melodic voice. The panther settled her head on his lap (weirdly, some part of him was certain that she _was_ a she) and started up a deep, humming purr. He found himself leaning back into her warmth, soothed by the aura of _safety_ the panther radiated. 

**Your Realm belongs to you, little dove. You are as safe here as you choose to be, so long as you hold control.**

The panther nudged his stomach, green eyes watching him intently, and Virgil understood. “You’re talking to me?”

She yowled reproachingly, like she was offended he had thought otherwise.

**Who else would I talk to? The floor? The mist?**

…she was also sarcastic, it seemed. Good to know. She and Janus would get along.

“You’re… what are you?” Virgil sighed, too out of it to really be scared anymore. Clearly, he was delirious and sitting in a ditch somewhere, hallucinating, because this had gotten way too crazy for it not to be a dream. The panther huffed in his face, warm breath ruffling his hair.

**My name is Psyche. I am what you leave behind.**

“That was really helpful, thanks.” Virgil rolled his eyes. A moment passed as Psyche gave him an unimpressed look (how did that look natural on her, she was a _cat_ ), and Virgil squirmed before asking, “I mean, uh, what do you mean by that incredibly cryptic and mysterious statement?”

**I am a manifestation of your creation. As Panic, you chose to flee from danger instead of standing your ground and fighting. Thus, your Name relinquished its hold on your instinct to fight and gave it to me instead.**

“…what?”

Psyche growled impatiently, craning her neck back to prod the fluffy monstrosities on Virgil’s back with her velvety nose.

**You chose to keep the instinct of flight, so you manifested me to be fight. If you want me, I will be there, but otherwise, you have chosen that your first instinct in any situation will be to escape from it, because of your initial reaction to the shadowlings.**

“Just because I ran away from being attacked.” Virgil clarified. “Thomas will instinctively run away from danger, because I ran away from being attacked by a horde of shadow monster things _one_ time. While I was _exhausted_ and scared out of my _mind_.”

**Yes.**

Virgil shut his eyes, utterly dumbfounded. It didn’t seem quite real, that he could have such a huge impact on the rest of Thomas’s life with one action. “That’s… okay. Right. Imagination’s going to throw me down the stairs for this one, that’s something to look forward to. He’s gonna flip when he realises that Thomas can only run away, like,” Virgil lifted an arm as though he was brandishing a sword, raising his voice in a dramatic imitation of Imagination, “only a knave would flee from danger!”

Virgil looked at his hand for a moment, skin still stained with black, and dropped it into his lap. What was he even doing? This wasn’t a joke – he’d just majorly screwed up Thomas’s _life_ , the other Sides were going to–

**Calm yourself, little dove. Thomas can still fight, should you choose to call for me. I will be here, in your Realm, awaiting your summons.**

It took a moment before Virgil realised exactly what Psyche’d said. “Wait, _this_ is my Realm? Like, it’s not part of the neutral Mindscape or anything? It’s _mine_?”

**Yes. Did you not- Virgil, I _did_ tell you that, right at the start. **

“Well, _excuse me_ for being a bit distracted after getting ambushed and coming face to face with a literal panther – and why a panther, by the way?”

Psyche’s shoulders shifted in the rough approximation of a shrug, and wow, that looked strange on a big cat.

**Why not? Also, not a panther. The specific term is cougar – or puma, if you’d prefer – though, of course, black cougars and pumas haven’t been proven to exist. I just like pumas, and it’s not like I can change colour or anything. I could shift into a black panther, if I wanted to, but the right term wouldn’t be black, it would be melanistic.**

“Okay?” Virgil said confusedly. He found it hard to get a grip on her personality – one moment, the panther – _puma_ was being all mysterious and all-knowing, and the next, she was being sarcastic or lecturing him on the existence of black cougars.

To be honest, Psyche kinda reminded him of Janus, with his sharp wit and in-depth understanding of the Mindscape. Which, actually, brought up another point. “Hang on, if this is my Realm, then why’d it attack me? Deceit’s Realm doesn’t hurt him _or_ me.”

**That is your nature, little dove. To best assist Thomas, you must keep him safe from that which may harm him. Your Realm allows you to find and understand Thomas’s deepest worries so you may help him survive them.**

“Survive?” Virgil asked, alarmed.

**Poor phrasing. Understanding dangers will allow you to flourish under your new Name.**

“My Name… changed? I didn’t know that could happen.”

**Of course. As Thomas learns and grows, so too do you and your fellow Sides – it only makes sense that your roles and Names would change to better suit his concepts of you.**

“I guess that makes sense.” Virgil rested a tentative hand on Psyche’s head, and her purring got even louder. “So, uh, what’s my name now?”

**Think about it, Virgil. What has changed from when you were Panic?**

“I… I mean, I’ve got these things,” He gestured to the wings. The one on the left managed to lift halfway up, then dropped back down onto Psyche’s back. “and I can also hear Thomas’s emotions, which I couldn’t do before.”

**Right. Why can you hear his emotions? What does that do to help you in your role?**

“Uh… Well, I guess I understand his worries and **fears**? Which…” Virgil trailed off, a shiver of recognition running through him as he said the word. “ **Fear**.” He repeated, and Psyche touched her nose to his cheek.

**Yes, little dove. You are Fear. As you leave Panic behind, you rise to a new level of capabilities. It just so happens that Fear has room for only one reflex right now, and that is why I am here.**

“…okay.” Fear said tiredly, winding his fingers into Psyche’s thick fur, the adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving him half-asleep. Psyche chirped, standing up and bringing a limp Fear with her.

**Come, now. The longer you stay here, the worse you’ll feel.**

“Can you get me out?”

**Naturally. I’ll bring you to the entrance of your Room, but I cannot leave unless you call for me, and I do not believe you have the strength to keep me manifested in the neutral Mindscape at the present time.**

“Mmkay.” Fear slurred, leaning most of his weight on Psyche’s back. It took him a moment to realised that she’d changed shape – from a smaller cougar to a huge black lioness, almost as tall as him. With a few deliberate prods, Psyche managed to get Fear up onto her back. He gripped either side of her neck, resting his head on the back of hers, craving the soft bed in Janus’s Room.

**Hold on, little dove.**

Psyche leapt forward, and Fear yelped, throwing his arms around her neck and clinging to her as she sprinted forward. His wings dragged over the ground, and Fear forced them to fold closer, only able to get them draped clumsily over Psyche’s back before he lost control of them. The near-silent thumps of her paws shuddered through Fear’s body, jostling him with each huge bound. Fear’s eyes watered as the icy air whipped at them and he tried to blink them clear-

And when he opened his eyes, they were in Thomas’s bedroom. Not his actual bedroom, though. The colours were too dark, all shades of black and white and grey, and there were piles of fluffy blankets stacked in the corners. There was a door – no, a Door – set into the wall beside the wardrobe, cracked open to reveal the hallway between the other Sides’ Rooms.

**Your Room, little dove. I will wait here until you return.**

An empty feeling carved itself out in Fear’s mind as he let go of Psyche. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, and Psyche nudged at his chest ( _warmth, care, affection, Iamhere-_ ), filling the barren hole inside him.

Fear felt Psyche’s concern grow as he stumbled, and she bumped him towards the Door. He tumbled out of his Realm, glancing back at the open Door. Psyche chirped encouragingly, slinking away into the shadows as the Door slammed shut, leaving him with the hollow in his mind again. He reached out, tried to ask her not to go, but-

Fear’s knees gave out. He half-sat, half-fell to the floor, propping himself up on weak arms, barely noticing as the dark stains on his skin seemed to sink deeper into his flesh and vanish entirely.

There was a warm rush as Fear felt Thomas’s emotions fill the space where Psyche’s thoughts had resided, bulldozing into his mind full-force – being in his Realm must have supressed them, or was it his Name being in the process of changing? – but they didn’t hurt nearly as much as they did before. Fear shut his eyes, reaching inside himself to nudge at Thomas’s thoughts. Immediately, they calmed to a murmur, and his mind was peaceful again – or at least, as peaceful as it usually was. 

“Virgil!”

Fear looked up.

“Janus?”

Janus raced down the hall, stumbling as he crashed into Fear and yanked him into a hug. Fear buried his face in Janus’s shoulder and startled as he was hit with the distinctive smell of _home_ , a scent he hadn’t realised he was missing until he was inhaling it with shaky breaths. Janus’s emotions smashed into Fear’s mind ( _worry, love, panic, thankgodyou'reokay-_ ) – so touching people gave Fear access to their thoughts? – but Fear simply pushed them away, grounding himself in Janus’s arms.

“Oh, _Virgil_.” Janus sounded like he was on the verge of tears, pulling away from Virgil to pat him down with a frantic desperation, prodding worriedly at the wounds that were coating Virgil’s skin with a film of sticky, half-dried blood. The yellow bow hairclip was hanging out of Janus’s hair, barely clinging to a tangled lock of hair. “Oh, darling, what _didn’t_ happen to you?”

“M’ Realm manifested.” Virgil gestured weakly towards the gothic Door, just now noticing the wrought iron decoration and his Name, F-E-A-R, spelled out on it in large, silver letters, like a brand on his very being. Janus choked out a strangled laugh.

“Gee, thanks for that hint, Virgil, I _hadn’t_ noticed. I definitely _didn’t_ notice your new Name, or the effect you had on the Mindscape, or the new Door. No, not in the slightest!” Janus’s voice rose until he was half-shouting, seemingly unable to stop the sarcastic rant that Virgil could feel him building up to.

And then, his face crumpled, and he pulled Virgil close again. One gloved hand reached up to cradle the back of Virgil’s head, thumb circling soothingly in the same rhythm as the hand on Virgil’s back. Janus’s embrace wasn’t nearly as desperate as the one before, but it soothed the ragged ache in Virgil’s chest from Psyche leaving, Janus clinging to him as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I wasn’t scared at all.” Janus whispered. Virgil could feel Janus’s hands shaking, hear the quiver in his breathing as Janus’s tucked Virgil under his chin and held on tight.

“Sorry, Janus.” Virgil curled into Janus, taking comfort in the cool scales pressing into his forehead.

Janus ran his hand down Virgil’s back, pausing when he reached the pearl grey wings. Virgil grimaced. He could feel the ugly things twitching erratically and he _hated_ them, hated the feel of those strange, alien limbs that he couldn’t control. Janus’s shoulders trembled, and Virgil was broken out of his disgust by a wet snicker.

“What?”

“It’s just…” Janus shook his head as he chuckled, swiping a hand over his eyes like he could pretend he wasn’t crying, “I _didn’t_ spend six damn months working on your part of the rock, and now I _don’t_ have to change it all over again, because you _don’t_ have freaking _wings_.”

Virgil leaned back as he processed the words. He couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculous gripe, collapsing into Janus’s arms as they laughed and laughed in the middle of the empty hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: what kind of animal would be associated with fighting?  
> Me: *thinks about all those vines Thomas made about cats attacking him for no reason*  
> Me: …it’s perfect.  
> Well, that and one other reason. I’m gonna hang onto that one until chapter four, though!  
> You gotta love when you plan for about three thousand words, but your brain says no. This is, like, double the length of the chapter I intended to write, and I don’t know what to do with that information.  
> If you’re wondering why I refer to the Sides by their Names sometimes, and their names other times, it mostly comes down to whether or not they’re actively influencing Thomas. If they aren’t, I’ll generally call them by their names. However, Virgil and Janus both don’t want the other Sides to know their names, so they make a point to call each other by their Names – both in their head and out of it – when they’re around any of the other Sides! Since Virgil was in an unfamiliar place, and his Name was in the process of changing, he initially stuck with Panic, then as he lost Panic, he went for Virgil, and then, as he figured out his new name, he went with Fear.  
> A headcanon that I have is that the Realms are more linked to the Sides’ Names, so instead of Virgil’s Realm or Janus’s Realm, the correct way of addressing them would be Fear’s Realm, or Deceit’s Realm. Their Realms are connected to the main Mindscape through their Rooms, which is like a middle ground. Since the Rooms don’t really have much to do with their duties to Thomas, it would be correct to say Virgil’s Room. Thus, Virgil’s Room is the only access point to Fear’s Realm.  
> Hope y’all enjoyed! Comments are my lifeblood, so go ahead and drop one if you feel like it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas is about seven or eight in this, I think? Maybe ? My theory behind the Sides is that they change depending on how Thomas feels about things - at this age, fear is represented by the need to be safe and cared for, which overrides any other thoughts. Thus, the changing of names as Sides change to accommodate Thomas's personality. (and yeah, i feel like kids crying before this age is more reflex and reaction, and not actual fear of things??? idk, i just kinda wrote it, bls don't bully me)  
> Imagination is less Creativity (the composing of thoughts and plans into projects and dreams) and more just pure Imagination - dragons, and fairy lands and imaginary friends and stuff.  
> Love isn't Morality, because Thomas hasn't realised that the world isn't black and white yet, so he simply loves things he loves, and doesn't care about things he doesn't love.  
> If you think it's any good, please consider leaving a comment? I'm kinda on the line about writing the rest of this, but I'll definitely give it another few chapters before I call it quits. Thanks for reading!!


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